


though far away, we're still the same

by stevenstamkos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Background Relationships, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Non-Linear Narrative, Obliviousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevenstamkos/pseuds/stevenstamkos
Summary: Mikey wishes he wasn’t in love with Nate, because everyone knows that juniors shit—it doesn’t work out. Like Dylan and Mitch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was to combine three ships into one fic. Takes place during the 2016-2017 offseason. Background Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews and Jonathan Drouin/Nathan MacKinnon, past/ambiguous Mitch Marner/Dylan Strome.
> 
> Title from "King and Lionheart" by Of Monsters and Men

Mikey’s warm and leaning against someone’s shoulder. The someone has a pretty big shoulder, good muscle tone and pretty comfortable. It's a nice shoulder. Mikey’s mouth tastes like beer and nachos, which isn't the best combo when it's been fermenting for a while.

“Hey kid, you alright?” the shoulder asks.

“Kid? You’re like three years older than him, Jo.” That’s Mitch. Mikey recognizes Mitch’s voice. It’s loud and kind of annoying, but that's not Mitch's fault. Mitch is the good kind of loud and annoying.

He wonders for a second who Jo is and how the fuck he came to be on his shoulder.

 

It goes like this: Mikey’s kind of in love with Nater.

Okay that sounds like he’s confused or unsure or something. Mikey’s _definitely_ in love with Nater.

 

Dylan shows up at Mikey’s house on the regular, because that's just how the Stromes and McLeods roll. It's summer, no need to worry about the distance between Sauga and Erie. Sometimes he brings a brother or two, and Mikey can usually produce Ryan for some video games or ball hockey.

Dylan’s in a mood this summer. Well, Mikey thinks he’s been a little weird since last summer and that was like an entire year ago, but that’s just his opinion. No one’s asking for his opinion.

Mikey fetches some orange juice for them. “So what do you wanna do today?” he asks.

“I’m gonna kick your ass at Call of Duty,” Dylan says.

Dylan's a pretty funny guy.

 

It’s not like Mikey meant to fall in love with Nate or anything. He’s 19 for fuck’s sake, and if he’s lucky he might be moving to another country to play pro hockey soon. He wore the C this season in Mississauga.

In other words, he’s got a lot on his plate.

Also he’s 19 and like, this love business is kinda tricky when you’re barely a legal adult and no one thinks you know what you’re talking about.

 

“We should throw a party,” Dylan says after Mikey beats him six times at Mario Kart. He’s sprawled mostly on top of Mikey, and Mikey’s sweating under his weight. He shoves Dylan off.

“Okay,” he says, because he’s reasonable like that.

“Great! I’ll text Connor. Invite whoever.”

“Are you gonna invite Mitch?” Mikey asks, and then wishes he hadn’t.

Dylan freezes like Mikey just tried to—fuck, like Mikey just Mitch Marner’d him, which he supposes he did. Dylan’s a little weird about Mitch. Or a lot weird, if Mikey’s being honest, but sometimes he likes to tone it down because he’s a good friend.

Dylan seems to recover though. “Course, why wouldn’t I?”

“Nothing,” Mikey says quietly. “I’m gonna go text Nate.”

“Okay,” Dylan says.

“Okay,” Mikey says. He digs up his phone and pretends not to see Dylan staring at his phone. Neither of them are typing.

 

Mikey wishes he wasn’t in love with Nate, because everyone knows that juniors shit—it doesn’t work out. Like Dylan and Mitch. Fuck. What a mess.

Everyone knows that Dylan has like, a huge fucking crush on Mitch. Like, the visible-from-space kind, the kind that has its own satellites and everything. Mikey knows these things. He watched it on the Discovery Channel while he was in the States during U18 WJC.

It sounds like a YA novel, but. Dylan loves Mitch and for a while it seemed like Mitch loved him back.

Dylan’s drafted to Arizona. Mitch is staying in Toronto.

Mitch breaks up with Dylan. Not after the draft. After he gets up to Toronto.

Mikey doesn’t have like, actual confirmation that that’s what happened, but Matt—Strome, that is—told some stuff to Mikey’s Ryan and Ryan like any good little brother told Mikey and it’s just a fucking mess.

 

So Dylan invites Connor because Dylan and Connor are Otters, or at least _were_ Otters, and like, Otters don’t abandon other Otters. Something like that, except with some cheesy line about hand-holding. Brinksy comes along too, because he was in the area supposedly, and you know, the Otter thing.

Dylan also invites Mitch, because it’s _Mitch_. Dylan and Mitch go way back, from rivals to friends, and you don’t just abandon a bro like that.

Mikey secretly thinks these are very unfortunate circumstances.

Mitch brings along Auston, because—because—

 

“Mitch has a new boyfriend,” Dylan says. He sounds fucking miserable.

Mikey understands. Mikey’s got his own problems.

“This fucking sucks,” Dylan says.

Mikey nods and passes him a beer. Technically they’re not supposed to be drinking, because Erie is in the States and the US is like, stupid with their laws and doesn’t make the legal drinking age 18 like any other sensible country. A lot of things in the States don’t make sense. But it’s fine, Dylan has a fake.

Dylan takes a sip. “He got up to Toronto and met like, Auston Matthews. Love at first sight or whatever.”

The beer’s fucking nasty, whatever it is Dylan got them, but Mikey keeps drinking. Erie killed Mississauga tonight, okay, he’s allowed to.

“I hate him,” Dylan says, and then he buries his face in his knees.

“Who, Matthews?”

“No, Marns,” comes Dylan’s voice, muffled from between his kneecaps.

 

Auston’s a nice guy, and Connor greets him right away when he shows up to the party with Mitch. Maybe it’s a first overall pick thing.

“He looks nice,” Nate says, and there’s that slightly goofy smile on his face, happy and welcoming. It’s Nate, Mikey doesn’t expect anything less.

“You gonna go drool over his hockey?” Mikey asks. He doesn’t blame Nate, the four goals thing was pretty slick.

“Dunno, Cloudsy…” Nate’s voice trails off, and he raises an eyebrow.

Mikey stares. That’s Nathan MacKinnon walking through the door. He knows him. Fucking Calder winner, of course he knows him. And behind him, Jonathan Drouin. They brought the Mem Cup to the Q long before Mikey was ever drafted by the Steelheads, but he knows them. Kind of hard to miss one of the most dynamic duos of junior hockey.

“What are they doing here?” Nate mutters to himself, and it’s not in a mean way, it’s more like a “what” kind of way, or at least Mikey thinks so. Nate’s not a mean guy, like he said.

Ryan Strome goes over and greets Drouin, since they apparently know each other, probably from Eastern Conference meetings and also the fact that Drouin’s team killed Ryan’s during the playoffs two seasons ago.

So apparently Auston Matthews is good friends with Nate MacKinnon, the Colorado Avalanche’s only hope and casual training buddy of Sidney fucking Crosby. And Jonathan Drouin, rising superstar on the Tampa Bay Lightning.

That’s kind of hard to compete with, if you’re Dylan Strome. Like, Dylan knows McJesus, but so does Mitch, so he doesn’t really get brownie points for that.

Also Auston sort of broke a record by scoring four goals in his NHL debut. Dylan couldn’t crack the lineup this season. Yikes.

A small part of Mikey’s like, _this isn’t a competition, dumbass_ but another part of him’s like, _yeah it totally is_.

 

Mikey starts drinking.

 

“Auston Matthews is a homewrecker,” he tells Dylan, and Dylan makes a sad little sound and burrows deeper into his knees.

Dylan's awfully sad for someone whose team just had a great game against Mikey’s, but Mikey figures love finds a way to fuck you up when you least expect it.

Nater says that Mikey’s pretty wise sometimes.

He's not sure if Dylan and Mitch were actually dating the year after they got drafted or if it was that “we almost dated" type thing that Mikey might have with Nate. Might, because even Mikey doesn't know what the hell’s going on with him and Nate.

Dylan knocks his beer over. Thankfully, it's empty.

Mikey pats his back, sitting cross-legged on the floor of Dylan’s billet home. The carpet’s a little itchy and Dylan didn’t exactly clean his room, but Dylan’s his friend and doesn’t look to be moving anytime soon, so Mikey stays.

 

Dylan’s doing a weird dance with Mitch, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or his feet or his stupid 6’3 body whenever Mitch is in the same room as him. They haven’t really seen each other in a while.

Not while Mitch was blowing shit up in Toronto with Auston Matthews, and Dylan was in Erie.

Mikey watches him, and it doesn’t get any better the longer he watches.

When he looks at Dylan looking at Mitch, all he can see is him and Nate. All the could’ve-beens and didn’t-happens.

Maybe that’s what he and Nater are gonna be in a year or two. Except like, ten times more awkward because they’ll, you know, be on the same team.

 

Mikey doesn’t stop drinking.

 

Auston and Mitch are a really fucking cute couple. They're wearing matching Blue Jays snapbacks and they hold hands on the couch and like, cuddle and shit. Mikey remembers that Dylan said that Mitch likes to cuddle.

Mitch fits really well into Auston’s arms. The dude’s got big arms, and Mitch isn’t exactly a tiny guy but he’s obviously smaller than Auston. He looks at Auston like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky just for him, this desert kid from Arizona. And isn’t that fucking ironic? That Arizona takes Dylan, takes him away from Mitch, and then Mitch finds himself a nice boy from Arizona.

Mikey’s beer tastes like shit. He wonders if there’s something stronger in the Strome house.

It’s kind of ridiculous how obvious it is that Mitch is a _Leaf_ now.

And by ridiculous Mikey means inevitable.

 

Late, late into the party, Drouin and MacKinnon end up next to Mikey, who’s sitting alone on the couch, and they introduce themselves.

“Call me Jo,” Drouin says. He’s got a kinda thick Quebecois accent.

MacKinnon is Anglo through and through, and he’s also called Nate.

Mikey just can’t get away from all the Nathans in the world.

It’s so obvious that the two of them are a couple. Like take _super obvious_ and multiply it by ten and add sixty. That’s how obvious they are. Mikey hasn’t spoken to them all night, but he’s seen them kiss a few times and MacKinnon gets this like, big dumb look on his face when he’s looking at Drouin, and Drouin’s kinda shameless about where he puts his hands.

What Mikey means is that he puts his hands on his boyfriend’s ass.

It’s almost two in the morning, he’s too tired and drunk for this.

 

Mitch greets Mikey by grabbing him by the hair. Well, ruffling it, like he’s some kind of older brother. Mitch is a year older than Mikey, which Mikey doesn’t think is a lot, especially considering how Mikey’s like, three inches taller than him.

“Mikey, dude, hey! Oh you brought Nate.”

Nate’s kind of stopped breathing a little, probably because that’s Auston Matthews standing behind Mitch. Auston Matthews is a pretty big deal after his rookie season. (Come to think of it, Mitch is a pretty big deal too.)

Auston Matthews has a hand curved around Mitch’s hip, light and possessive.

“This is Auston,” Mitch says, and he’s smiling his too-wide smile.

“Hey, what’s up,” Auston says, completely chill.

Nate remembers how to breathe again.

“Mikey McLeod,” Mikey says.

“I’m Nathan Bastian,” Nate says, and he’s back to smiling all wide and easy-going.

They talk a little. It’s cool. Auston keeps his hand on Mitch’s hip, keeps Mitch glued to his side, and Mitch stands there curled into Auston like that’s where he belongs.

Mikey needs a drink.

 

At some point, well into his god-knows-which beer, Mikey turns to Nater and says, “This is depressing.”

“What is?” Nate asks. He’s not entirely sober either, but he’s not as far gone as Mikey.

That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it. Nate not being as far gone as Mikey. Because Mikey is so—

“Dyls and Mitch. Like, look at Dylan, what the fuck, he’s so sad.”

“Love hurts,” Nate says in his psuedo-wise voice. He cracks a smile, but it looks a little weird.

“It just, you know, sucks to be them.” Mikey’s trying to keep his tone light or whatever.

Nate flinches.

Oh right. They’re not talking about that.

They both look over at where Dylan’s staring all sad and forlorn after Mitch and Auston, who are snuggled together in one of the loveseats. Then they look at each other.

“Think I’m gonna crash in one of Dylan’s spare rooms,” Nate says slowly. “Night Clouder.”

“Night, Nater,” Mikey says. He fistbumps Nate when Nate offers his hand. They’re cool. It’s fine.

Nate wasn’t touching him at all, but Mikey still feels cold when he leaves.

 

“Fuck, buddy, you’re a mess,” Drouin-call-me-Jo says.

“‘M not a mess,” Mikey says into his nice shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I know a lot about messes,” Drouin-call-me-Jo says. He pats Mikey’s back.

Mikey makes a miserable noise.

Across the room, Dylan laughs at something Mitch says, a little high-pitched and a beat too late. Strained, like he’s trying to hold it together. Mikey gets it.

“Where's Nater?” Mikey asks.

No one seems to hear him, which isn’t surprising. He does have a pretty soft voice.

“Where’s Nater?” he asks again, louder.

The back pats stop.

“Jo, he needs water.” That’s Nathan, but it’s not Mikey’s Nathan. It’s not Nater. That’s Jo’s Nathan, and Mikey has an uncharitable moment where he hates Jo for getting to have his Nathan.

“Hey, McLeod, we’re gonna get you some water, k?” The back pats resume, and Mikey nods. He hears Nathan MacKinnon’s footsteps recede.

“Your friend went to bed a bit ago,” Jo says.

Oh. Mikey sort of remembers that. It's just that things have been blurry all night, and he can't stop thinking about how he—

“I kissed Nater,” he blurts out.

 

It was like—

Mikey and Nate, 18 and so fucking stupid. Mikey wore the A. Nater wore his heart on his sleeve. They played some really good hockey in Sauga.

Alex had pulled Mikey aside one day, said to Mikey, “You should tell him, you know.” And Mikey didn’t need to ask Alex what he meant because like, linemates. They know.

Mikey did not tell Nate. Mikey had kissed Nate instead, hours before the draft, because he’s not good with words when he’s nervous, and thinking about _that_ with _Nater_ at the fucking  _draft_ made him really fucking nervous.

And Nate had said, “Is this about the draft—”

And Mikey had said, “Yeah—”

And Nate had pulled away.

Then the draft, Ray Shero and the Devils, and development camp in New Jersey. The Devils loved them. #Superbuddies.

Of course they didn’t stay up. Back to Mississauga, and a whole fucking season’s gone by, and nothing.

Oh, and Mitch and Dylan broke up.

 

“Nate and I were on and off for a long fucking time.” Jo blows out a breath, laughs a little. “The distance, it was a lot at first. And I was bouncing between Halifax and Syracuse and Tampa. But we worked it out. I know everyone says juniors stuff doesn't last, but we made it last.”

“You’re smarter than me,” Mikey mumbles.

“Nah, you’re a smart kid. Shoulda seen some of the things _I_ did. We broke up right after I was sent back to Halifax, and again when I was suspended by the Lightning. Shitty time.” Jo looks thoughtful for a moment. “We had to fight the distance. You don’t have to, you realize that? You’re really fucking lucky, kid. You just gotta figure out how to talk to each other. And like, compromise.”

Mikey starts crying, is surprised by his own tears. He must be really drunk. He’s not sure what he’s crying over.

Jo sounds kinda freaked, which is understandable when the random drunk kid leaning on you starts crying. “Hey, just talk to your boy Bastian, okay? I’m not like, great at relationships, and I fucked up a lot, but you guys are gonna be together in Jersey. You’re gonna make things okay.”

“I don’t know how to,” Mikey says through his tears.

“He’s gonna be there for you though. You two are friends, you’ll figure it out. Just talk to him.”

“I kissed Nater and he pushed me away. Whole fucking season after we got drafted together and he didn’t talk about it at all. He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Mikey’s not sure if he’s still crying. He touches his cheek, and his fingers come away wet. Oh. He should probably stop.

Jo runs his hand through Mikey’s hair, soothing. “Did either of you bring it up?”

No. Of course not. Mikey’s not stupid, if Nate feels uncomfortable about what happened, he’s not going to like, force him to relive it or whatever.

“You’re gonna have to talk about it eventually,” Jo says.

“I love him so much,” Mikey whispers into the sleeve of Jo’s t-shirt.

Jo shakes his head. “I know buddy. It’s so fucking dumb, eh? Both of us fucked up over some guy called Nathan.”

Mikey throws up.

 

It

happens

in

fragments—

 

“Mikey, wake up.”

 

Nater’s going to be there with him he’s going to be there with Mikey in New Jersey he’ll be there he’ll be there betherebethereb

 

Nathan MacKinnon’s a little shorter than Mikey, but he still manages to pick Mikey up. Or like, drag him up really, and Mikey’s face ends up mashed against his bicep. Nathan MacKinnon’s got a nice shoulder too.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean up later,” Jo says. He’s still holding his drink, a little frozen.

Oh right. Mikey kind of threw up on him a little. Only a little, because he did manage to turn his head and most of it got on the floor.

“C’mon, time for bed,” MacKinnon grunts. Mikey sighs a little. Bed sounds nice. His bed’s in his house though, and MacKinnon’s carrying him upstairs to one of the spare rooms in Dylan’s house.

The room’s lights are off when they stumble in, and someone makes a startled little sound in the dark. Mikey’s too drunk to really notice though, because he’s being tipped onto the bed. The pillow’s very soft and cool against his face.

“Hey, Bastian, take care of him. Make sure he doesn’t die in his sleep.” That’s MacKinnon.

There’s a soft murmur of agreement, and then someone’s warm hands are on Mikey’s face.

“Dude, Cloudsy, you really got fucked up tonight.”

“Sorry,” Mikey says, because he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say.

Nate sighs. “Way to kill my buzz.”

“Sorry,” Mikey says again. He feels like he’s supposed to be apologizing for a lot of things.

“Nah man. What’s up though, you were like, Dylan Strome levels of sad.”

Dylan Strome levels of sad is pretty fucking sad. Mikey spits out the bit of pillowcase that made its way into his mouth. “I fucked up, Nater,” he whispers.

“Kinda a little. It’s okay.” That’s Nater, always so supportive. Mikey’s heart aches a little.

“‘M sorry I kissed you. At the draft.”

Nate stops trying to get the covers out from under Mikey.

Jo said that talking is good right? That they’re supposed to like, communicate and stuff. “Kinda thought you wanted the same thing as me. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Mikey…”

Mikey shifts until he’s comfortable, staring up at the dark ceiling above him. He’s still lying mostly on top of the covers.

Nate sighs again. He’s usually happier when he’s been drinking. Mikey must’ve really killed his buzz. Or like, his mood, because Nate’s a pretty happy guy most of the time.

“We’ll talk in the morning. Go to sleep, Mikey.”

That sounds like pretty good advice, so Mikey closes his eyes. He feels Nate finally free the covers and toss them over him, and then Nate’s fingers are on his ankles. Mikey jumps a little.

“What’re you doing?”

“You left your shoes on.”

 

He dreams about Nate staring at him from across the ice. They’re wearing red, red like the New Jersey Devils. He also gets the impression that they’re not talking.

 

“Mikey, Jesus, wake up.”

Mikey turns and falls out of bed and dry heaves on the nice hardwood floor. Not much comes out, but he’s probably not a pretty sight. Also he gets like, some bile or whatever on Dylan’s floor. God, Dylan’s gonna be so pissed.

“Gross, Clouder.”

Yep, pissed.

Mikey hopes that the sudden vision of him drunkenly crying into Jonathan Drouin third overall pick of 2013’s arms is just a horrible alcohol-induced nightmare and not a real memory.

“The fuck happened last night?” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Yeah, Nate’s right, it’s kind of gross.

“Yeah, about that.” Nate peers over the edge of the bed.

Oh god. Mikey’s going to need some Advil or Tylenol to get through this.

 

The draft was good. It was fucking great. Mikey went in the first round, 12th overall which wasn’t bad. Alex went before him to Buffalo. They had to wait a whole day for Nate to be selected, but he was, second round 41st overall just like Shero said. Pretty fucking sweet.

Except Mikey and Nate weren’t talking, on account of the fact that Mikey had kissed Nate before the draft and Nate was probably mad about that.

Mikey didn’t want to say anything because like, kissing your best friend/linemate isn’t very bros.

Nate spent the night after Mikey was drafted a little spooked, like he wasn’t sure what to do around Mikey now that he knew Mikey likes dick or at least likes the prospect of Nater’s dick.

Mikey was drafted in the first round, his best friend all but guaranteed to be drafted by the same team as the one that took him, and he was fucking miserable.

But then on Day 2 of the draft Nate showed up and was like, totally cool with him. Didn’t mention the kiss, but Mikey figured that was a blessing. Or a second chance. Nater’s a really nice guy.

“It’s cool, we’re going to be teammates,” Nate said after Shero called his name, and he had grinned at Mikey and put an arm around him while all the cameras flashed in their faces.

Mikey smiled back, a little tentative, a lot grateful that Nate had forgiven him.

He knew now. He wasn’t going to fuck it up again.

 

They don’t actually end up talking about “that” in Dylan’s spare room, because Mikey’s terribly hungover and Nate wasn’t completely sober last night either.

“Probably better to wait until later to talk,” Nate says as they head downstairs.

Mikey grunts and holds his pounding head.

Nate steals two bottles of blue Gatorade from Dylan’s fridge before they go, and he presses one into Mikey’s hand. Mikey holds it to his face for a few seconds before twisting the cap off.

“Thanks, Nater.”

“No problem, Mikey. ‘S what I’m here for.”

 

There are no dreams this time.

 

Mikey wakes up in his own bed to afternoon sun streaming through his window. Nate’s flopped over half his bed, snoring away softly. It’s comforting, hearing his little breaths. They’re a constant in Mikey’s life now, quiet and even in the dark of their shared hotel rooms.

The headache’s still there, but it’s mild now. Before they crashed in Mikey’s room, Nate forced a bottle of water on him after the Gatorade, which was a good idea.

It’s probably also why Mikey needs to piss, and Nater’s in the way.

When he gets back, Nate’s awake, his hair a complete mess. He looks at Mikey, smothers a yawn, and stretches very slowly.

“Good, you’re awake.”

“I woke up before you,” says Mikey evenly.

“Nah, I’ve been awake. But you were totally dead to the world so I kept going back to sleep until you woke up.”

Mikey scratches his ear. “So, uh.”

“Yeah.” Nate smiles, gentle and a little unsure. “You wanna talk about it now?”

 

Nate’s lips had been smooth under his, because Nate was crazy with anxiety the day before the draft, thinking he wouldn’t be selected or something even though it was obvious that the scouts knew what a great player he was. Mikey had eventually forced some chapstick on him after Nate chewed up his bottom lip.

“Is this about the draft—”

“Yeah—”

 

“I don’t really remember what I said,” Mikey lies, because he sort of remembers, and he wishes he didn’t talk so much—or cry, or get sad, really—when he’s drunk.

Nate’s patient though, because he’s Nate. “You said sorry for kissing me at the draft.”

“Right.” So much for ignorance. Mikey clears his throat nervously. “Sorry.”

“Why though? Are you sorry, I mean.”

Mikey gets back into bed and lays down so he doesn’t have to look at Nate. He can feel Nate’s eyes on the side of his head.

“I thought…” His voice comes out so quiet that Nate leans closer, instinctive. Mikey takes a deep breath, holds it and lets it out slowly the way his trainer taught him when they’re working on flexibility. “Thought maybe you didn’t want it the same way I did.”

“Want what, Mike?” Nate’s voice goes quiet too, like they’re telling secrets. Mikey supposes they are.

“Like, me. Dating me, or whatever.” Holding hands, kissing, doing everything Mitch and Auston and Jo and Nate MacKinnon were doing last night. They would’ve had one more year in Mississauga even if they’d been drafted apart.

“What? What do you mean, I didn’t want that?”

Mikey covers his face with his hands, exhausted. “You pulled away,” he says into the heels of his palms. He peeks at Nate through his fingers. “And like, I get it. Friends, yeah?”

Nate wraps his fingers around Mikey’s wrists, very gently, and pulls Mikey’s hands down so he’s not mumbling like some moron.

“You said it was about the draft,” he says slowly. “The kiss. You said it was about the draft.”

“Yeah. It was like, the draft was in a few hours and I didn’t know if we were going to be split up, and I dunno, I didn’t want to lose you.” That sounds lame. Mikey’s pretty lame.

 

“Are you and Bas okay?”

Mikey pulls his hood up and burrows into it like he can hide from Brinksy if he melts into his clothes. Brinksy’s not taking that bullshit though. He’s standing there with Raddy, looming over Mikey’s seat. Seriously what is it with the Otter thing. It’s like they travel in packs.

“Clouder, you’ve been a little like, closed off.” That’s Raddy, in his deep slow voice.

“Me and Nate are fine. We’re getting drafted tomorrow, it’s exciting.” Mikey smiles at them.

Brinksy takes a seat. Maybe he felt short standing next to Raddy. “Yeah, that’s why we’re worried. I know you and Bas have like, this thing together and you might be split up tomorrow, you know?” _Like Mitch and Dylan_ , Brinksy doesn’t say, but Mikey hears it anyway. Brinksy knows a lot about the Mitch and Dylan thing.

“Yeah and Nate’s been a little quiet too,” Raddy says. “He like, never shuts up about you. But the second the cameras were gone today, it was like, nothing. It’s a little weird.”

Mikey stares. “What do you mean he never shuts up about me?”

“Oh my god,” Brinksy says.

Raddy jumps in. “Dude’s always like _Oh Mikey’s so great, did you see what Mikey did, god Taylor I miss Mikey so much_. And then today it’s like, biggest day of our lives is tomorrow, and he acts like he forgot you exist.”

“Reminds me of Dylan, to be honest. Man, he freaked out big-time at his draft last year. Kept jumping between whining about Mitch and pretending Mitch didn’t exist,” Brinksy says.

Oh. Mikey knows he’s not like, the best at figuring out what other people are feeling—Nate’s loads better than him—but maybe—

“Maybe Nater’s thinking about how to ask for his clothes back,” Raddy says. “ _Hey Mike I know you stole my shirt—_ ”

“Shut up Raddysh,” Mikey says, but he’s laughing now.

 

Nate touches his shoulder, lingers there. Asking for permission.

Mikey rolls towards him, and Nate slides his arm around his back and pulls him closer. It’s like a Nate thing. He just knows when Mikey needs comfort. Alex calls it his supersense. “Because you guys are Superbuddies so he’s like supertuned to you,” Alex says, like it’s obvious.

It’s not obvious. Mikey feels like a lot of things are not obvious.

“I didn’t want to lose you either,” Nate says. “I’ve wanted it for a long time, but like, I really wanted _you_ to want it, you know? For you to be _sure_. But you didn’t say anything after the draft, so I thought, yeah it was a draft day thing, not like a long-term thing.”

 _What_. Mikey pulls his face from the crook of Nate’s neck. “Nater, I was waiting for you to say something. But you were acting like nothing happened. I didn’t want to bring it up if you were mad at me for kissing you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because—Because you said it was about the draft! I thought you were scared and caught up in draft-day nerves, and you only kissed me because, I dunno, here’s your last chance to kiss your liney before you’re drafted into the NHL. Or like, nerves, people do all sorts of things they don’t mean when they’re nervous.”

“What the fuck,” says Mikey, because _what the fuck_.

Nate shrugs, embarrassed and vulnerable. “It sounded better in my head when I was freaking out inside during the draft.”

“What the fuck,” Mikey says again, because it bears repeating.

Nate sighs. “This is really dumb.”

“Yeah.” Maybe middle schoolers have the right idea. _Do you like me? Check yes or no_. “So, does this mean…?”

“Um…” Nate blinks owlishly at Mikey, which isn’t really an answer.

Alex’s voice or something really like Alex’s voice pops up in Mikey’s head. _Just fucking ask him, I’m so tired of your bullshit, McLeod._

“So um, you like me. And I like you…?” It comes out like a question which is totally not what Mikey meant. “I mean, like, we’re gonna be in the NHL together. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He must spend a lot of time stumbling over his words, because Nate closes the distance between their faces and kisses him.

 

Mikey’s kind of in love with Nater.

It’s okay. It sounds like Nater’s kind of in love with Mikey too.

 

Mikey rolls over on top of Nate, because Nate's big and taking up a lot of room on Mikey's bed and this way Mikey's hands are free to run through Nate's hair. It's a fantastic angle for kissing. Nate grabs Mikey's ass. “Oh,” Mikey says.

Nate's tongue slides over his teeth, which shouldn't feel sexy at all, but it apparently does it for Mikey. He's getting the impression that a lot of things about Nate might do it for him.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Nate whispers against his cheek, and Mikey turns to catch his lips again.

Nate's like an okay kisser, but he makes up for it by being super duper into Mikey. It makes Mikey a little dizzy. Or maybe that’s because he really needs to breathe.

He flops over onto his back, breathing hard, and Nate’s laying next to him smiling his big dumb smile. Fuck, Mikey’s so in love with him.

Nate reaches out and curls his fingers over Mikey’s, slow and a little hesitant. Getting used to the feeling. Mikey flips his hand so their palms are pressed together and twines his fingers with Nate’s. Nate smiles.

This is totally not what they meant when they said you’re supposed to love your liney but like, yo what ev.

 

Mikey races across the ice, turns and catches Nate’s beautiful saucer pass right on his tape. It’s a beauty of a goal, as pretty as Mikey’s ever scored.

“You’re gonna stay up for sure this time,” Nate says as they celly.

Mikey tugs off a glove so he can wipe the condensation off his visor. “You too. Everyone’s noticed. They’ve all been saying that you’re pretty impressive.”

Nate bumps fists with Mikey. “Superbuddies,” he says.

It’s only development camp, but it feels like a beginning.


	2. Bonus Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus scene: the Combine + the draft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fills in a little bit of what Nate was thinking prior to the kiss, some stuff that Mikey doesn't get into, and it lays a bit of foundation for my next fic.
> 
> Slight Nate/Pierre-Luc and background Pierre-Luc Dubois/Julien Gauthier.

If you asked Nate, he’d say the season went by too fast.

Everything—Every second in Sauga, went by too fast. He can’t wait to get on that stage in Buffalo and shake hands with whatever GM drafts him— _i_ _f_ he gets drafted—but he knows that he’s coming to the end of something special, and some part of him is going to miss that.

“You’re gonna get drafted,” Mikey tells him, night before the draft, and how does he _do_ that, Nate didn’t even say anything.

Anyway, Nate grins cause that’s easy for Mikey to say, projected first round. Nate is so fucking proud of him. That’s his best friend.

“I’m not worried,” he says. He’s plenty worried. He’s so worried his lips hurt from biting them.

Mikey says, “Okay,” and gives him his tube of chapstick. He doesn’t say anything else. They both know the truth.

 

That’s kind of the thing with Mikey. He always knows what Nate’s thinking.

Nate is starting to think that’s not always a good thing.

 

The Combine is somehow both really fucking great and really awkward. Like, Nate has fun. He really does, outside of the part where a bunch of NHL officials are hovering over him watching him jump and bike and run on command before each team pulls him aside and makes him answer a ton of boring questions. Besides that part, it’s pretty fun.

Normally he would hang out with Mikey, but Mikey is doing this thing where he’s spending a lot of time whispering with Alex. And after spending all that time with Alex, Mikey is weirdly jumpy around Nate.

“What’s up with Clouder?” Luc asks him, as if Nate is supposed to know what’s going on with Mikey 24/7.

“I don’t know,” Nate says.

“He looks all mad.”

Mad isn’t really the word Nate would use, but Luc has a point. Whatever is going on with him, Mikey sure isn’t happy about it.

It’s whatever though, because Nate already knows what he’s gonna do. He’s gonna be there for Mikey, and right now, it looks like he should just give Mikey space to figure things out with Alex. Whatever _things_ actually is. That’s none of Nate’s business though.

Luc has all these extra interviews and events and stuff because of the top prospect thing, but he’s just hanging out right now, looking all comfortable in his Combine hoodie, so Nate says, “Wanna go do something?”

“Sure,” and Luc is honestly the chillest person Nate knows. What a guy. Nate loves him.

They go to the mall, and Nate tries on a billion different sunglasses and Luc makes fun of how he looks in every single one and takes pictures for Nate’s twitter. Nate settles on a pair, and then after a moment’s thought, he grabs another pair that he thinks will look good on Mikey.

Luc raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“Did you have fun with Duber?” Mikey asks. His tone is very neutral.

Mikey has a really specific passive-aggressive voice, which he doesn’t use often because Mikey is a chill fucking guy. He’s using it now though, and Nate isn’t sure what he is being passive-aggressive about.

“Yeah. We got tickets for a Bisons game. PL is cool, you know?”

“Yeah, he is,” Mikey agrees quietly.

 

Luc kisses Nate a few days into the Combine.

Nate doesn’t really understand what’s up with Luc, cause he’s pretty sure he saw him frantically making out with Gauth last night in the lobby of the hotel, and then Jules came out of Luc's room this morning. His shirt had been inside out. And backwards.

As soon as Nate manages to free his mouth, he blurts out, “So uh, are we not talking about you and Gauthier—”

Luc is like a good-looking guy, but he just looks kind of constipated when Nate mentions Gauth.

“How about I don’t talk about Jules and you don’t talk about McLeod,” he says.

“Uh,” Nate says.

Luc leans in again and wow, he kisses exactly like he looks: cool and a little detached. It’s not a bad kiss, but it’s not exactly groundbreaking. It’s like, a bro kind of kiss. It feels experimental. Nate kisses back carefully.

“Mmm,” Luc says thoughtfully, and then he kisses Nate one more time before pulling away.

“So…?” Nate asks. He kind of feels like he’s supposed to ask Luc for marks.

Luc grins, and it’s almost a scary smile. “You’re alright, Nater.”

Which, rude. Nate thinks he’s plenty good at kissing, thanks. “Just alright? Why, is Gauth better or something?”

The smile drops off of Luc's face. “Hey,” he says in a warning tone, “We’re not talking about that, remember?”

“I don’t know what you guys are doing, but I mean...You look like you have a better time with him than with me. Just saying.” Nate remembers how Luc looked last night, pressed against a wall with his fingers in Gauth’s hair and Gauth’s face buried in his neck. He definitely looked like he was having more fun then.

Luc's face is carefully blank as he stares at Nate. “And why aren’t you hanging out with Clouder then?”

“That’s not—He doesn’t wanna hang out with me,” Nate sputters. It’s not his fault, you know? He’s gotta be a supportive bro, give Mikey the space he needs to deal with whatever he’s got going on with Alex.

“And you’re not avoiding him at all?”

Wow, Luc sure doesn’t pull punches off the ice either.

“A little bit, maybe,” Nate says defensively. “I don’t know what to do.” He pauses, thinks about what he’s saying. “I don’t wanna—Let’s just not—It’s whatever. It’s stupid, okay?” He feels stupid. Everything about his feelings for Mikey—It’s all stupid.

Luc drops the subject, because Luc is a pretty decent friend.

 

They go the Bisons game and get snow cones, and Luc puts the picture on his Instagram with one of his usual too-cool captions. It’s fun.

Mikey smiles at Luc when they meet up afterwards, but it's a cold smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Jesus Christ, Cloudsy.

Nate still doesn’t know what to do.

 

Instagram: duber18 just posted a photo

**duber18** I guess you can say me and @naterbastian had a good time #nhlcombine  (Ok Hand Sign ≊ Ok Hand)

(Heavy Black Heart ≊ Red Heart) mikeymcleod9, gauths12 and 780 others

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**naterbastian** Stop  (See-No-Evil Monkey )(See-No-Evil Monkey )(See-No-Evil Monkey )

 

Halfway into draft week, Nate texts Luc asking if he wants to hang out again. Like, Buffalo Take 2.

He doesn’t mean for it to be a weird thing, but they go for a walk and Nate is thinking about a lot of stupid things that mostly have to do with Sauga without Mikey and then he kind of opens his big mouth and—

“So. Me and Mikey are gonna get drafted in a few days,” Nate starts.

Luc looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Me too.”

Yeah, okay, so Luc's gonna get drafted too. And is probably freaking out about it because, you know, top prospect, huge pressure. Everyone keeps talking about narratives. It’s stressful.

“Yeah.” Nate kicks a pebble in the road and forces himself to relax. No point in psyching himself out. “It’s just gonna be weird going to a different team, you know? I got used to him.”

“I know,” Luc says. He puts his hands in his pockets and keeps walking, not looking at Nate. “You have a good thing going in the O. You’re lucky you got to play with him.” He sounds weirdly wistful.

“I know there’s like, barely a chance we’re gonna be on the same team, but I don’t wanna be on a different team than Mike. But I don’t know how to talk to him about it.” Nate feels stupid.

“If you want me to talk to him, I don’t think he likes me,” Luc says easily.

It's not what Nate was asking for, but that reminds him—“Yeah, what’d you do to him?”

Luc stares at him for a moment before his lips quirk up into one of his secretive little smiles. “You know.” He gestures, but Nate has no idea what he means. Fucking cryptic, thanks, Luc.

There is a buffalo statue in front of them, and Nate is still really lost, so he points to the buffalo and goes, “Hey, look.”

Luc doesn’t put up much of a fight when Nate climbs on and gestures for him to get on behind him for a picture. He gives his phone to some random person walking by and climbs up, keeping a good foot between their bodies.

“You’re gonna fall off,” Nate says, and Luc shakes his head.

“I’m fine back here.”

“No seriously, come on up. You’re like, sliding off the butt.”

“Clouder wouldn’t like that.”

That isn’t really an explanation in Nate’s opinion, but Luc stays where he is, so Nate just gives up. It’s a great picture anyway. Nate makes sure to tweet it.

Back at the hotel, Mikey is coming out of his room just as Nate steps out of the elevator. He smiles at Nate for a quick moment before Luc follows Nate through the closing doors. The smile on Mikey’s face drops for a second, but then it’s back up in a flash.

Nate feels Luc put a hand on his back, lean in and whisper, “You guys have a good thing going.” Whatever that means.

Mikey’s eyes follow Luc as he lets go of Nate and heads for his own room. Or not his room, because Luc barely knocks before Gauth is opening it, shirtless and smiling and already reaching for Luc. The door clicks closed behind them. Subtle.

“Huh,” Mikey says quietly.

Nate laughs a little. “I know, right? Duber and Gauth.”

“Q boys,” Mikey says. Franco Canada is right. Mikey smiles at Nate, and like, Nate’s chest feels all warm and fuzzy inside. Wow. “I saw your tweet. The buffalo pic was nice. Where’d you find it?”

Nate falls into step beside Mikey, following him to the vending machine, where Mikey slowly puts his quarters in one by one for a pack of gummy worms and a bottle of water.

“It was like, ten minutes away from here, I think? I didn’t stop to check. We can go looking for it tomorrow though.”

Mikey nods, leaning into Nate’s space a little as he drinks his water. It feels good, knowing that for now, he and Mikey are still cool.

 

Mikey kisses him after he’s drafted, all desperation, sudden and sloppy and really fucking bad timing. He’s wearing his Devils jersey, and Nate is still wearing his suit because he wasn’t drafted in the first round, will have to wait until tomorrow, when some GM is going to call his name and he’ll end up wearing a different color than Mikey probably. They're in some room in the Prudential Center, and, well.

Mikey holds onto the edges of Nate’s suit jacket and kisses him.

Nate pulls back, just enough to breathe, to get his brain working again, because there’s no way this is really happening. This is nerves and fear and Mikey acting without thinking because of the draft, and Nate has to know—

“Is this about the draft—”

“Yeah—”

Nate pulls away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Instagram caption, likes, and comment are all from Luc's actual Instagram
> 
> I can't believe Luc tricked Nate into thinking he's a cool, competent boy.

**Author's Note:**

> People who show up/are mentioned but aren't tagged are Mitch Marner, Auston Matthews, Nathan MacKinnon, Connor McDavid, Alex DeBrincat, Alex Nylander, and Taylor Raddysh.


End file.
